The Key to Sherlock
by Dark Night Rain
Summary: What if Watson were a girl? And what if that girl were intellectually almost at Sherlock's level? Sure, they'd make a great team, but Sherlock's lack of understanding of human emotions often seems to hinder their progress, especially when his own emotions begin to awaken and he becomes confused by such new experiences.


She smiled, enjoying her own private joke. Or perhaps it would be more accurately described as a riddle. Life was too dull without some added excitement, and she made a habit of analyzing other people's behavior and appearance to try and deduce things about their lives and personalities. Working as a doctor, this often helped her relate to and more effectively communicate with patients. In reality, however, she just enjoyed the thrill of exploring the mysteries of human nature.

The man standing before her at the moment, studying her inquisitively with his pale blue eyes, was perhaps the most puzzling of them all, but also the most amusing. It wasn't so much that he was difficult to read. On the contrary, his outward mannerisms painted a clear picture of his personality and the way he lived his life. His confidence and boldness would have been perceived as arrogance to most who witnessed his behavior, but she knew from observing him that both were well-deserved. His brusque and frankly rude interactions with others could not hide the fact that his intellect was at the highest level, but also revealed his greatest flaw. In other words, she was dealing with a genius, but one that could not empathize with or truly understand human emotion. She, of course, already knew his occupation, close relationships (or lack thereof), and daily routine.

No, what puzzled her was the current situation. After working in close proximity for weeks, she thought he'd already passed judgment on her. That was just what he did, and it was somewhat similar to her own little game. He observed someone down to the most minute details, such as how neatly pedicured their nails were, how they carried themselves, or even what perfume they were wearing, and determined exactly what kind of person they were. Or so it had seemed.

But at the moment he hesitated, and his perplexed expression was the source of her own. Why would he be confused by her? Both minds raced, trying to solve their puzzles first.

She examined his mannerisms closely, as he did hers. _"He's visibly bothered by something he cannot make sense of, and it undoubtedly is related to me. But what could it be? I've done nothing out of the ordinary. He'd already evaluated me when we first met, even down to the type of underwear I was sporting at the time."_ She frowned at this thought, and he responded by bringing his eyebrows together slightly in increased confusion.

Her bright blue eyes lit up. So that was it!

"What's bothering you, Sherlock?" she asked innocently. His frown deepened.

"As perceptive as ever I suppose," he begrudgingly mused. "It's strange being around someone who looks at the world in a was similar to me, though not quite as brilliant I'll admit."

"As modest as ever," she muttered.

"And yet," Sherlock continued, sporting the pensive but excited expression he always did when trying to understand something. "Though your intellectual capacity is clearly less than my own, I still cannot deduce the reasons you behave the way you do." He continued to look at her intently, expecting an answer or at least a clue. She smiled mischievously at him.

"What exactly is it this time? What have I done that is so inexplicable that its motives elude even the greatest consulting detective in London?"

He sighed. "There's no need to point out that I'm the _only_ consulting detective in London, since you obviously phrased it that way on purpose, or that regardless, flattery will not distract me. It's quite interesting – how one moment you seem like an average person with an unspectacular mind, but then the next you are nearly at my level."

She rolled her eyes._ "This is what has him so riled up?"_ she thought, and sighed.

"Is it that difficult to believe that I'm intelligent?" she asked out loud, pursing her lips.

"No, no, no, that isn't it at all," he replied.

"Excuse me?" Her voice rose in disbelief.

"What I _meant,_" he said deliberately, finishing what he'd been saying before she interrupted. "Was that I'm not unduly curious about your above-average intelligence. No, instead I'm pondering why someone would willingly behave on a lower level. Is it to fit in with society? Unlikely, since for the most part you don't, nor do you make much effort to."

She chuckled with disbelief. "Why thank you."

Sherlock shot her a knowing look. "Please, you could hardly call yourself a normal member of society. You're estranged from your family, don't have any friends to speak of, at least none you spend any time with, and would rather be holed up in your room reading or on the Internet updating your blog. That said, you are able to navigate confrontation with others quite proficiently." He began pacing back and forth in front of her, as he often did while thinking.

"Yes, that would be called having a conversation," she said dryly. "Something even the great Sherlock Holmes seems incapable of, without egregiously insulting the other party that is."

He seemed to ignore her remark and continued marching back and forth across the apartment. Then, suddenly, he stopped in front of her and abruptly turned to face her.

"What are your motives for wanting to continue working with me?"

Her eyes widened. This question was unexpected. Not to mention, for him to actually ask her a question was very uncharacteristic, because in a way it was like him admitting defeat.

"Does it matter?" she asked, slightly shaken by his intensely curious gaze. She felt that, if she met eyes any longer, she would get lost in their depths.

"Just this week your life has been endangered on six separate occasions. It seems you derive some sort of enjoyment from said situations, perhaps due to adrenaline-induced excitement, but that's not all…"

"I wish you'd just admit that you're confused," she interrupted his thought process. "Asking someone else to give an explanation once in a while could be a nice change of pace for you." Besides, she knew he would never understand the answer to this riddle by himself.

"There's more to it than that," he continued, once again too caught up in his own musings to pay her heed. "Simple enjoyment of our work doesn't explain why you insist on returning with me to my apartment, trying to govern my nutrition, and excessively worrying about— ah, unless," his face lit up. "Unless the reason is because you're attracted to me, and therefore are using our partnership as a means to maintain an active role in my life." He was obviously pleased with his conclusion, and looked to her smugly for confirmation. She stood dumbfounded, caught by surprise by the sudden change in direction of his logic. Her surprise soon turned into annoyance, and her eyes became defiant.

"Do you honesty believe that?" she snapped, and then continued before he could answer the rhetorical question. "First of all, it's _our _apartment thanks to you. My gender was never a consideration when you roped me into living here, much to Mrs. Hudson's dismay! Second, I view you as an esteemed colleague and a valuable partner, and thus enjoy working with you. Third, I worry about your health because you never eat unless essentially forced, since you say digestion hinders your thinking abilities, and hardly seem to sleep due to your mind being in a constant barrage of thoughts. And lastly, once again you have shown how poorly you understand complex human emotions."

"On the contrary," Sherlock responded, not seeming phased. "The emotional patterns of a woman your age are quite easy to analyze and predict once observed properly. It's rare to exhibit such behavior towards someone unless you have underlying motives or emotions. While your enjoyment of solving cases could qualify as motivation, that does not account for the care you show when we're off-duty. Thus the logical conclusion is that you have feelings for me, whether or not you're aware of it."

She breathed out sharply in disbelief, but quickly composed herself. This was ridiculous. "I doubt this answer will satisfy you, but yes, I have feelings for you. Generally, however, those feelings encompass a strong desire to punch you in the face. The rest of the time, I would say I admire your abilities, which can only be described as amazing. I don't expect you to understand or relate to this, but I do care and worry about you. Why? Because I am your friend." She said the last part firmly, enunciating each word. "That does _not_ mean I am 'attracted to you.' I know better." She mentally scolded herself for adding on that last comment. It was unnecessary and potentially revealed too much about her true emotional state.

Meanwhile, Sherlock analyzed her response. He was still confused. He generally had comprehensive knowledge of human emotions, but when it came to her nothing ever seemed to add up. Perhaps it was because he couldn't relate to such things, after repressing and deleting them from his life to make room for the rest of his vast intellect. Somehow, though, around her even that became more muddled. It was strange. Even physically, when she was involved he concluded that he wasn't at his peak for some odd reason. His chest would often tighten in an uncomfortable way, and he would find it more difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. And then she would throw in comments like the one she'd just made. _"I know better."_ What was that supposed to mean?! He didn't want to give up and ask, and stubbornly remained silent, trying to figure it out on his own.

After a long while, she spoke again. "You're not going to figure it out, you know," she sighed, seeing the stressed look on his face despite his efforts to hide it.

"All I need is time," he snapped.

"No," she replied wistfully. "You can't get this one on your own, because human beings aren't that simple."

"Oh I beg to differ," he retorted.

"Well _I'm_ not at least," she glared at him.

"Fine!" he exclaimed with frustration. "Do enlighten me," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What I meant," she began from between her teeth, once again resisting the urge to punch him, "was that 'I know better' than to have feelings for you." While she didn't really want to explain the nature of her sentiments, she also didn't want to be the source of his vexation.

"What?" He still didn't understand, and it bothered him to no end.

"Exactly what I said! Even if I did develop feelings of attraction towards you, they could never go anywhere." She fought back the sudden urge to blush. This was practically sounding like a love confession even though it was supposed to be the opposite.

"And why is that?" In his mind, he already had pondered several possible reasons she could be implying, but was intrigued for some reason and wanted to hear her own explanation.

After a sigh, she continued, knowing full well that he would already have predicted the range of responses she'd give.

"Because you wouldn't return those feelings," her voice sounded a bit disappointed, much to her dismay. "I know that the thrill and intellectual stimulation of your work is what sustains you, and that your relationships with other people are few and far-between. As you aptly pointed out earlier, I have no permanent place in your life. I'm just a partner who eventually will no longer be useful to you and will be cast aside, because I either fail to keep up with your genius or no longer serve to ease your boredom." Why was she so upset by this thought?! Despite all her own intelligence and reasoning, she still remained in denial somehow.

"I see," he replied. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to explain that she wasn't _just_ a partner who would be cast aside someday. She was more to him than that? It was exceptionally rare for him not to understand his own thoughts, but at the moment he was having trouble. Yes, she was one of the few people he'd met who could almost keep up with him intellectually. She also enjoyed solving cases almost as much as he did. It was also rare to find someone as stubborn as him, but she most definitely had her moments. However, he didn't explain this to her. Why? Because he didn't _want _to explain it to her. He wasn't sure why. For some reason he just didn't want to. Not because it would take effort, but because it made him feel… uncomfortable? That wasn't quite right. It was a difficult sensation to explain – one that he was completely unfamiliar with.

"You know," she said quietly, but more composed. "It might benefit you to try and relearn some of those emotions you've threw out. Objective knowledge of them can only go so far and, who knows, you might need them to solve a case someday."

"That's highly unlikely," he responded immediately, trying to shake his 'uneasy' feeling and somewhat grateful for the subject change, though still bothered by her self-degrading comments. While he often insulted her by stating negative facts, for some reason he didn't like it when she did the same. "Emotions only serve to distract normal people and complicate their interactions with others. When dealing with a client or suspect whose actions are influenced by emotions, one must objectively evaluate them. Otherwise, the interaction between the emotions of both parties will simply cause disconnect and hinder one's ability to properly understand the situation."

"Ah, I see. Then it seems you do have emotions at least," she smiled slyly. "If not, what is causing confusion between us right now?" Sherlock wasn't aware of how easily his face could be interpreted when he entered into these rare confused states.

"Perhaps this should be your newest case to solve," she turned and slowly walked away, a spring in her step. She knew he was most likely hopeless, but she'd known that since the first time she met the man, and that hadn't stopped her from developing feelings for him in the first place, had it?

Little did she know the effect she truly had on him. If she were the only one experiencing strong emotions, he would have been able to size her up and analyze her like everyone else he came into contact with. But she was different. He was unable to comprehend and predict her behavior. She somehow always surprised him in one way or another… and this excited him. His confusion then ensued because, when she was around him, he began to experience things he'd theoretically deleted long ago.

"I have no idea what you mean," he called after her. Ironically enough, he finally was beginning to.

* * *

.

.

.

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading! This is just a little scenario I wrote after discovering then marathoning Sherlock. It may or may not be a oneshot, and I'm sorry if anything seems OOC (I tried to keep it in character but this is the first time I'm writing something for this fandom so I need more practice -.-).

Also, the girl in this fic is not meant to be John exactly. She's more of an OC that resembles John in many ways but then has the added intellectual part of her that more resembles Sherlock himself.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and feel free to review if you want! :)

~ Night Rain


End file.
